


Val Chevin

by acrosspontneuf (FangedAngel)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Gen, Lyrium Addiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-03 01:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19453150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangedAngel/pseuds/acrosspontneuf
Summary: The light changes, and the people fade, but all he knows is that he needs it. He thinks about finding the dwarf with the supply and begging for more, pleading for more, but he still can’t tell where he is, or where he’s meant to be going.His blurred hands are shaking, the intimate familiarity of cold and terror settling into his bones, and all he wants is the lyrium, the red glow of it mirrored in his eyes.He wants to feel strong, but he’s too far gone for that. All it can give him is oblivion, the focus of the iron taste of it in his mouth. Without it, the voices are loud. Without it, he remembers.





	Val Chevin

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-Trespasser.  
> Warning for potentially triggering mentions of addiction and a very loose interpretation of red lyrium effects.  
> Implied past female Inquisitor/Cullen.  
> Angst, angst, angst, feel all the angst.  
> The usual rambly writing style.  
> Written for the beautiful and immensely skilled [@heffalumps](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heffalumps) as a Patreon reward.

There is salt on his lips and it tastes red, but everything does these days.  
He doesn’t know where he is, but the breeze carrying the salt feels more familiar than the cobbled street around him. The voices whisper about the sea, about towns with names he used to know, but he doesn’t remember. He can’t remember.

His vision is hazed with red as he painstakingly gets up from where he’d fallen asleep on the ground, huddled against the wall of a crumbling building.

People walk by him, muttering in a language that doesn’t feel right. He can’t see their faces, but he can feel the derision dripping off them. He doesn’t remember why he should feel slighted by it.

He looks down at his hands and they look like blurred shadows, much like the rest of the world around him. The voices call to him - they sing, and beg, and demand. He understands them completely. He needs it, thirsts for it, hungers for it, but it’s not here, it’s not here, he doesn’t have it.

It doesn’t take him long before he’s the one begging, falling to his knees, hands outstretched. He grabs passersby, clutching at the hem of their clothes. He gets kicked at least once, but he can’t quite tell, because the voices are louder than the impact.

The light changes, and the people fade, but all he knows is that he needs it. He thinks about finding the dwarf with the supply and begging for more, pleading for more, but he still can’t tell where he is, or where he’s meant to be going.

His blurred hands are shaking, the intimate familiarity of cold and terror settling into his bones, and all he wants is the lyrium, the red glow of it mirrored in his eyes. 

He wants to feel strong, but he’s too far gone for that. All it can give him is oblivion, the focus of the iron taste of it in his mouth. Without it, the voices are loud. Without it, he remembers.

The shadows have thinned around him, but he suddenly sees one that gives him a frisson of glee. The shadow is shorter than the rest as the dwarf walks towards him, and he laughs before he gets a better look at her. His heart plummets, first with the realisation that she is not his supplier, and then with the horror of recognition.

The dwarf is all freckles and red hair, and the sight of the symbol she proudly bears on her armour suffocates him as much as the look on her face. 

‘Commander?’ she says, a tremble in her voice.

He doesn’t remember her name, but he remembers his own. He remembers fragments of what that title used to mean, before he ran, before he descended into this frayed world.

Cullen is still on his knees, and he can barely see the dwarf in front of him through the haze, but he catches a glimpse of her green eyes and the force with which they remind him of someone else’s is almost violent.

He looks at the scout and wonders what she sees, but it’s not something that he truly wants to know.

‘We’ve been looking for you, Commander,’ she says, but he can see the horror on her face. 

‘There’s a reason I haven’t been found,’ he says, his voice a broken croak. The voices are screaming now, the memories regaining their vivid detail.

He remembers the Inquisitor. The green of her eyes, the green of her hand, the scent of her hair. He remembers the look on her face when she first saw the red glow on him. He’d been lying to her, claiming that he was off the lyrium when in reality he’d only changed the colour. He remembers hearing her weep, and the way she’d told him that all there had been between them was over. He remembers seeing her in someone else’s arms. He remembers running.

The noise he makes sounds like a wail, and the scout touches his shoulder, her eyes warm but her position wary.  
Cullen nods at her, appreciating the comfort despite what she must be feeling.

Before she leaves, she slips some coins in his shaking hand, and he can’t see much but he can see their golden glint. The scout doesn’t say goodbye, and Cullen is thankful for it when she fades away, but the voices tell him to look behind him, tell him that he’s being chased.

It takes him hours to almost crawl through the streets of Val Chevin, constantly looking over his shoulder, but he makes it to the slums where addictions grow without being stopped. Only one supplier dares to trade in red lyrium, and he provides it with a scowl on his face, but Cullen smiles at him.

Cullen finds another corner and takes it, welcomes it. The voices are soothed, and he feels warm and nourished. The world blurs around him further, becoming indistinguishable and absorbing him. Moments later, there is nothing. His name is gone, and the memory of her eyes is gone. There is nothing but the red.


End file.
